


There is No Bankai in Football

by polynya



Series: The Greatest Family in Soul Society [4]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Brunch, Children's sports, F/M, Family Fluff, Fine Dining, Fluff, Football | Soccer, Parenthood, Romance, Uncle-Niece Relationship, married people being horny at each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24291655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polynya/pseuds/polynya
Summary: Kuchiki Byakuya, 28th Head of the Kuchiki, Captain of the Sixth Division, extraordinary uncle and even better brother, magnanimously offers to take his beloved niece to her football game so that his perfect sister and her not-entirely-objectionable husband can go to brunch. It goes about how you would expect.
Relationships: Abarai Ichika & Abarai Renji & Kuchiki Byajuya & Kuchiki Rukia, Abarai Renji/Kuchiki Rukia, Hitsugaya Toushirou & Kuchiki Byakuya
Series: The Greatest Family in Soul Society [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975768
Comments: 37
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rated T for language and gross married people flirting.  
> Special thanks to my Best Online Mom Friend and beta reader, Luna12.  
> Part 2 is done, I will post it in a few days.
> 
> **Additional Blathering:**
> 
>   1. I wrote this in response to the following Ask I got on Tumblr:  
>  _you know what i’d really love you to write renruki married with kid(s?) and uncle byakuya i think you’d nail it_  
>  I would absolutely not say that I “nailed it,” but I did finish it, and that counts for something, right? 
>   2. One of my headcanons is that when Byakuya let Renji marry Rukia, he named them a branch family, which comes up a few times in this fic. Rukia is Acting Captain Kuchiki at work and Lady Abarai when she’s being noble, and isn’t all that picky about what people call her the rest of the time, because taking a dude’s name after you get married is a personal choice and is not indicative of anything, thank you for coming to my TED talk. 
>   3. According to WDKALY, Rikichi made 3rd Seat of Squad 6, so we’re going with that. How did he get there? It is a MYSTERY! (I will write a fanfic about it someday because someone has to)
> 


* * *

Kuchiki Rukia crept forward with the stealth she had first learned on the streets of Inuzuri and had honed over her many years as a shinigami. Her muscles ached after hours of tracking a Hollow through a swampy part of the Rukon, where the footing was treacherous and the humidity soul-sapping. But just because her day shift had ended didn’t mean she was off easy. 

Cautiously, she eased the shoji open, and the voices on the other side became clearer.

“That’s too much pickle.”

“Mama _likes_ pickle!”

“Mama _does_ like pickle, but if you put too much in, when you squeeze it tight, the pickle will fall out the side, see? You want to get some tuna in there, too.”

Rukia could tell from a slight change in the lilt of her husband’s deeply patient voice that he was well aware of her presence. It wasn’t exactly surprising; Renji could sense individual people’s reiatsu better than just about anyone she knew, and he was especially tuned in to hers. To be honest, he had probably known the moment she stepped off her division grounds. 

But he wasn’t her target. No, that would be the small person standing on a stepstool, wearing a tutu, a winter hat with long floppy rabbit ears, and an apron with a cute little smiley pineapple embroidered on it.

“It’s _not fair_ , Daddy, your hands are much bigger than mine!”

“That’s why I told you to make yours smaller. You were the one who chose not to listen to me.”

Rukia made her move just as her daughter stretched her arm out to grab a handful of tuna. She hurtled into the kitchen like a linebacker and threw Ichika up onto her shoulders, earning a pile of fish in her hair in the process. “I’m HOME!” she bellowed.

Renji grinned. He was wearing an apron with a larger, smiley pineapple on it. 

“Mama! Mama! Mama!” Ichika hollered. “I made you a rice ball, Mama! Daddy tried to make me put less pickle in it, but I put _more_ in, _for you!”_

“What does Daddy know about cooking anyway?” Rukia replied, shooting Renji a sly glance.

“Everything,” Renji replied dryly, well aware that no one was paying any attention to him. “I know everything about cooking. You would be a skeleton in the wastes without me.” 

“Is it ready? I’m starving!” Rukia crowed. 

“I need to squish it!” Ichika announced, squeezing hard on the glob of rice in her hand. Some pickle juice joined the tuna in Rukia’s hair. “Here you go! Here you go, Mama!” 

Ichika waved the rice ball wildly and Rukia tried to reach up and take it, although the fact that she couldn’t see it presented some difficulty. Renji very patiently took the onigiri from his daughter and passed it down to his wife. It did not resemble a rice ball so much as a falling-apart pile of rice and pickle. All the tuna had been lost, although it did appear to contain a substantial amount of glitter. Rukia stuffed it in her face anyway. “It’sh SO GOOD!” she exclaimed. It actually wasn’t bad, aside from the slightly disturbing crunch. Renji’s pickles could save just about anything.

Rukia watched Renji finish wrapping his own onigiri with a strip of seaweed and set it in a neat row of a dozen identical ones. “That was delicious,” she exclaimed to Ichika, “but do you think I could have one of the ones Daddy made, too? He might get sad if I didn’t say nice things about his cooking.”

“Yeah, that’s okay,” Ichika agreed. 

“Why don’t we all go to the table and eat?” Renji suggested, gently picking rice out of Rukia’s hair. “Ichika, do you remember where we put the shrimp crackers we made?”

“Yes, I’ll get them!”

Rukia just barely managed to get the four-year-old off her shoulders before Ichika was pelting across the kitchen. 

“How was your day?” Renji asked, as Rukia borrowed Ichika’s stepstool for kiss-stealing purposes.

“I’m gonna destroy those onigiri, I can tell you that,” she replied.

“Hope that’s not the only thing you’re in the mood for destroying,” Renji suggested, waggling his eyebrows in what he seemed to think was a seductive manner. 

“Always,” Rukia purred back.

The sad fact of the matter was that by the time bedtime actually rolled around, they were usually too tired to make good on their overblown, gross flirting, but it was the _thought_ that counted. Rukia felt exceedingly grateful that Renji was still horny for her, despite the bags under her eyes and the ink stains on her hands and the fish in her hair. She was certainly still incredibly horny for him, even though these days, his shrimp crackers were just as likely to get her engine revving as his perfect hair or perfect-er abs.

Ichika ran back through, the tub of crackers held above her head. 

Renji lingered a bit over a last kiss, and then, with a contented sigh, picked up the platter of onigiri and then offered her his elbow. “Shall we, Mama?”

“Of course, Daddy.”

* * *

  
  


“... and then the Sea Bream returned the magical jewel to the Dragon King, and they all had a big picnic, the end!” Rukia closed the book quickly, hoping that Ichika wouldn’t notice she had cut the story off halfway through and tacked on an ending that didn’t match the illustration.

Ichika, for her part, was too busy rolling around her bed and putting her feet up on the wall.

Bedtime stories were one of those things that seemed so idyllic in practice and so… draining in real life. 

“Under the covers now,” she said firmly, pulling back the blankets to reveal Ichika’s scooter. Rukia stared at it blankly for a moment. Why? _Why?_ “This stays outside, remember?” she reminded her daughter, extracting it from the bedding.

“Oooookay, Mama,” Ichika replied around a yawn. Oh, thank goodness, she was actually tired tonight. Bedtime had been a huge battle all of last month. The wailing and thrashing had miraculously dissipated in the last few days, for no reason Rukia could discern. Renji thought she was about to have another growth spurt, which always made her eat like a Hollow and sleep like a log. Rukia wasn’t sure which was worse-- bedtimes full of tears and screaming, or having a child who would be taller than her before she even started school. No, she definitely knew which was worse.

“Did you have a good day today?” Rukia asked, tucking Ichika in and rubbing her back.

“Uh-huh,” Ichika agreed. “Oh. Oh! Mama, I painted you a picture! I forgot to show you! I want to go get it!”

“You can show me in the morning,” Rukia suggested.

“No! Nooooo! I want to get it now!”

“But you’re all cozy in bed! Why don’t you just tell me about it?”

Ichika frowned, but relented. “It's you, Mama, and Uncle Byakuya and you are at the park and there are four puppies. The puppies are named Rose, Tulip, Daisy and Red Bean!”

“Ahh, that sounds so nice. Is it a sunny day?”

“Yes, I drew the sun, but I did not put on a face. Uncle B says the sun does not really have a face and I should not put faces on it. Is tomorrow Wednesday? I want to take my picture to Uncle B’s house.”

“Yes, tomorrow is Wednesday,” Rukia tried to keep her voice calming and relaxed. “So you will go over to Uncle Byakuya’s house in the afternoon, and I come over after work and we will all have dinner and it will be so nice.” Ichika did well on a firm schedule and it helped to remind her of things that were coming up.

“I wish Daddy came to Wednesdays, too,” Ichika managed, snuggling into her pillow. “Oh, oh! Where is Princess Seaweed?”

Fuck. Fuuuuuuuuuck. “Where were you last playing with her?” Rukia asked, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. 

“Tea party,” Ichika mumbled. She was exhausted, but she would never go to sleep without that lumpy pile of fluff Byakuya had gifted her as an infant. 

Rukia’s eyes skimmed the clutter of the room, and sure enough, there was a tea party set up in the corner, featuring two bunnies, a lamp, and-- whew! “There she is! Right where you left her!” She retrieved the toy and tucked it into her daughter’s arms. Ichika’s eyes were nearly closed. “Good night, kiddo.”

“‘Night, Mama.”

Rukia breathed out a huge sigh as she slid the shoji closed behind her. That had been an _incredibly easy_ bedtime for a change. She wandered back out to the kitchen, where Renji was drying and putting away the last of the dishes. “How are you not collapsed on the couch?” she groaned. “I am exhausted and I only spent an hour with her.”

Renji chuckled. “Honestly, chores are almost pleasant when I get a little peace and quiet to do ‘em. And it’s nice to end the day with a clean kitchen.” He frowned. “What have I become?”

Rukia pfffted. “You were always like this. Are you almost done, though? I got a chore for you, and it’s rubbing my back.”

“That’s no chore,” Renji grinned, hanging up his dish towel. 

They settled on the couch, Rukia sitting on Renji’s knees as he kneaded his big fingers into the tense muscles of her back. “Tell me how bad you fucked up that Hollow,” Renji begged. “Don’t leave out any of the good stuff.”

Rukia frowned, a bad feeling settling in her stomach. “Are you sure? It doesn’t just make you sad to hear about other people’s missions?”

Renji was currently restricted from all but the most trivial of field missions. They had decided that they weren’t going to put both of themselves in constant danger while Ichika was still small. Rukia had taken the first year or so, since she was still nursing and recovering from childbirth anyway. Between that and the pregnancy, she had been foaming at the mouth to get back to active duty. She didn't know how Renji must feel, at over three years now. At least he was at work close to full time, while Rukia’s former lady’s maid and general godsend, Mikan, came over to watch Ichika during the day.

“Noooo! I love hearing about it, and your dumb brother writes the most boring mission reports I’ve ever read. He does this on purpose. I know he’s out there having a great time and then he turns in this shit that’s like, 'Class IV Hollow dispatched at 0400 hours,' that's it, no juicy detail whatsoever." He glowered. "It's like he didn't appreciate all the effort I used to spend tryin' to make _my_ write-ups spicy."

At least this system was working out fairly well for Squad Six. Byakuya’s recovery from his war wounds had been long and slow, and he was currently trying to rebuild his strength and reflexes by “covering for Renji.” 

“Maybe he’s bored by it all,” Rukia dismissed teasingly.

“He’s _not_ ,” Renji insisted. “He loves it. He’s like a damn kid. Choei says he’s started _wisecracking_. I mean, it’s bad, you’ve heard him try, he’s terrible.”

“I’ll tell him to be nicer to you,” Rukia promised.

Renji snorted. “I’m just glad he’s having fun. That stretch where we thought he might have to retire was _scary_. If he’s bein’ a bitch to me, it just means he’s feeling like himself. When he’s nice to me, I start to get worried. _Speaking of which_ , I would like _you_ to be nice to me, and tell me about all every rubbery limb you hacked off.”

“Oh, this guy was _chitinous_ ,” Rukia sang, wiggling her fingers like spider legs. 

“Ughhh, my favorite,” Renji groaned. His hands had wandered down to rub her thighs, which she was enjoying, not just because they were sore.

“I’m not going to tell you this story if it’s just going to make you horny,” she scolded him.

“That’s a lie,” he replied, nuzzling her neck. “And joke’s on you, I’m _always_ horny.”

“Could we just skip straight to the sexy times, then?” Rukia implored. “And if we’re still awake afterwards, I’ll give you the rundown? I don’t mind if you fall asleep in the middle of my story again, but I do mind missing my chance to get laid.”

“I wish you would stop reminding me of my shameful behavior, but that was a story about _Sentarou_ , not a story about you smashing Hollows. But, uh, deal.” He shot to his feet, tossing Rukia over his shoulder. “To the _sex place!”_

* * *

  
  


If someone wanted to attack the Seireitei, the time to do it would be in the five minutes following a captains’ meeting, when a good half of the captains loitered around the Squad 1 meeting hall, checking their texts. A Garganta could literally open up in the middle of the plaza, and not one of them would break eye contact with their spirit phones.

Rukia leaned against the wall next to Captain Hirako, who was singing that gravelly little “Emails! Emails, emails!” song he always sang when he checked his phone.

Twelve new texts. Some of them were from Sentarou, one from Hanatarou, forget those. Rukia hit her Renji-texts.

“Hey, if the Captains’ Meeting is over and this is the last text you got, tell ::Wakame Ambassador emoji:: I had to duck out, left Rikichi in charge, be back ASAP.”

Byakuya had a phone now, but he regarded texts as a personal affront and preferred to be informed of things once they had _concluded happily_. Rukia secretly suspected it stressed him out a lot when Ichika-related emergencies happened and there was nothing he could do about it. Fortunately, there were more texts.

“Situation stable! There is more blood than tears!” 

Rukia scowled. That was never as comforting as he seemed to think it was.

“Attempting Daddy kaido!”

“Daddy kaido partially successful! Blood is no longer coming out of your daughter! Gave Mikan a stiff drink.”

Rukia narrowed her eyes. “Dammit, Renji,” she muttered, “where are the goods?”

“Headed to Squad 4.”

“Just remembered it’s Weds and ::sunglasses:: ::bunny:: comes to the office anyway. Headed to office instead.”

Rukia squinted at her phone. How was that going to help?

“Third Seat Yuki to the rescue! All better!”

A picture followed of Ichika beaming and pointing to a patch of shiny new skin that seemed to cover an awful lot of her elbow. Rikichi was grinning toothily next to her and giving her bunny ears.

Rukia gritted her teeth and shook her head.

“Is all well?” her brother’s cool voice interrupted.

Rukia peered over the top of her phone. “Yup! Everything’s great!”

He looked like he was torn between not believing her and not wanting to know what had actually happened. “I will see you tonight?”

“Mm-hmm! Have fun with Ichi-chan this afternoon!”

As he departed with his usual swish of silk, she scrolled down to the last text.

“You know I would never hold out on you, babe, it was just a little hectic for a few minutes there.”

Rukia shuddered when she looked at the picture. Ugh, it was super gross, she was definitely going to forward it to Hanatarou. She also felt a stir of affection for her husband, who had only become an expert wound photographer out of his deep and abiding affection for her.

“Injury pic?” Hirako asked, leaning over a little. “Abarai or the kid?”

“The kid,” Rukia replied, extending her phone so he could see.

“ _Yikes_ , that is _gnarly_. Look at her _face!_ That is you and Abarai’s kid for sure.”

“I know,” Rukia replied with a glow of pride.

* * *

That evening, Rukia found her brother sitting serenely on the engawa, looking out into his back garden. He looked completely at peace, in a way she only recalled seeing on rare occasions, such as when he had, once again, taken Best in Show at the Seireitei Orchid Expo. 

“Good evening, Sister,” he greeted placidly, turning to give her what could be generously interpreted as a smile. 

“Good evening, Brother,” she returned. “How is it going?”

“I have sent her on a mission,” he replied.

Rukia could see her daughter darting about in the cherry grove. 

“I thought we would enjoy the daylight while it lasts,” Byakuya explained, “unless you are famished.”

“No, it’s a good idea,” Rukia agreed. “She has a lot of energy these days. Running around as much as possible is for the best.”

“Indeed,” Byakuya agreed. “She was, however, very tired this afternoon.”

“Hmm,” said Rukia.

“It is very common to be tired after receiving a major healing.”

“Brother, we all know what happened. If you want the gory details, you can just ask.” She did not offer to show him the picture.

“I absolutely do not want to know the details, thank you.”

“It looks like she’s gotten a second wind in any case,” Rukia observed fondly.

“Yes, that is one quality she has certainly inherited from my adjutant. I have not yet decided if I approve.”

“It’ll be worthwhile in the long run,” Rukia assured him. “That’s what I tell myself, anyway.”

Ichika barreled up, her hands full of pink petals. “Got ‘em, Uncle B!”

“Let’s see what we have. Can you count them out for me?”

Carefully, Ichika lined up her prizes on the engawa. “One… two… three… five…”

“Four.”

“Four… five… six! Six white cherry blossoms!”

“This one is missing a petal.”

“No it’s not, the petal is right here.” Ichika attempted to push the torn petal back onto the flower, as if that would fix things. She frowned and looked up at her uncle with very sad eyes. “Do I need to go get another one?”

“No, this will suffice,” Byakuya reassured her. “Next, I need you to go find the wisteria trellis. Do you remember what they look like? I showed you in the book. Many flowers grow in a bunch. They are pale lavender in color. Bring me _one_ bunch. One only. If you find one that has fallen, that would be preferable.”

“O-KAY, Uncle B!” Ichika started to run off again, but her uncle froze her in place with a simple clearing of his throat.

“Ichika. You have neglected to greet your mother.”

For the first time, Ichika seemed to register Rukia’s presence. Strange, how Acting-Captain Kuchiki was a celebrity in her own home, and a person of almost no importance whatsoever next to the luminosity of one beloved uncle. “Hi, Mama! I’m finding flowers for Uncle B!”

Byakuya cleared his throat.

Ichika straightened up and bowed. “Hello, Mother. I am happy to see you, Mother!”

Rukia ruffled her hair. “I’m glad to see you, too. Go find Uncle B his flowers.”

“Do not call me Uncle B,” Byakuya reminded her rotely as Ichika scampered off again. 

Rukia settled down on the deck next to him with a heavy sigh.

“Is all well, Rukia?”

“Oh, just waiting for my own second wind to kick in. Long day.”

“Your division is well?”

“Oh, it’s running fine. Busy. We’re going to start taking new graduates again this year, so we’ve been making preparations for that.”

“Have you had attrition, or are you finally beginning to ramp up your numbers?”

“Ramping up, actually. I’m not sure this is realistic, because it’s not like anyone’s at full strength right now, but the Head-Captain has suggested we try to get back up to size gradually over the next five years.”

“That seems ambitious for a squad without a captain.”

Rukia regarded her brother out of the corner of her eye. He regarded her back.

“There’s a five-year plan for that, too.”

“Ah. I am sure you will be much relieved to return to being a mere shiftless lieutenant once again.”

“Oh, shut up,” Rukia jammed him in the arm with her elbow. “You knew what I meant.”

Byakuya looked out at the gardens and smiled vaguely, more to himself than to his sister. Whether he was proud of her, or just laughing at his own terrible sense of humor was unknowable. “Your husband is well?”

“You saw him all day!”

“Sometimes I like to pretend that you have some other husband whose antics I need not put up with day in and day out.”

“He’s good." Rukia hesitated. "Does he seem good to you?”

“He seems as usual. Adequately covering the paperwork. Yammering incessantly about ‘leg days.’ He does seem to have an excess of energy. He is exhausting the unseated officers, although to be fair, an unprecedented number of them have mastered new attacks in the last year. What is he doing with his social evening this week? Bashing heads with Madarame again?”

“No, he and Lieutenants Hinamori and Ise have all been reading the same book, and they’re getting together to talk about it.”

“Both of them are very intellectually rigorous, I am sure it was some treatise on--”

“I’m pretty sure it was a time-travel romance.”

“Let me _live_ , Rukia.”

“That was pretty good, you’re getting better at this.”

“So what seems to be wrong with him? Aside from his literary taste?”

“He said it was very good and that you would probably like it.”

“Please stop.”

“And what do you mean, ‘what’s wrong with him?’ I just said he was fine.”

“It is unusual for you to brood over him like this.”

“ _Brooding?_ I’m not brooding.”

“You are my sister and I know your moods well. You are brooding. So, what is it? Is he not pulling his weight? Is he treating you poorly? He is an excellent lieutenant, which, as you know, is a rare and precious thing, but I will kill him without hesitation, if you wish it.”

Rukia snorted. “Hardly. He’s basically perfect. He gets up with Ichika and he does all the cooking and he works all day--”

“He leaves at three.”

“--and spends _more_ time with Ichika, and I come home and I’m exhausted and he’s just so good to me, all the time.”

Byakuya frowned. “What part of this is a problem?”

“I want to do something nice for him, and I don’t know what,” Rukia blurted out. “I’m bad at doing nice things.”

“He is exceedingly fond of you, you know, and also of your child. I do not think he has any complaints.”

Rukia glared at her brother out of the corner of her eye. “Didn’t you ever do things for Hisana, just because you loved her and wanted to make her happy?”

“Of course I did!” Byakuya bristled. “I am very romantic, I will have you know.” He paused, remembering to himself that Hisana had not necessarily… _appreciated_ some of his more ambitious efforts.

“That’s the thing!” Rukia protested. “Renji is very romantic also, you know, and I’m just not! He reads these books about samurai rescuing princesses and time-traveling soldiers trying to find each other across centuries, and I read manga where two people have to stay in a hotel where there is only one bed and then they end up smushing.”

“I hate everything about this conversation.”

“He brings me camellias and puts little notes in my bento and saves pictures of times we were drunk together. I buy him sunglasses for his birthday _every year_.”

“Rukia,” Byakuya replied gently. “You are working very hard at bringing a damaged division back up to strength, while trying to master your bankai _and_ raise an energetic child. Your husband is-- rightfully-- very proud of you. You do not need to do more than you already do.”

“ _You’re_ romantic,” Rukia repeated, as though it had just occurred to her. “What would you do for him?”

Byakuya’s face screwed up in horror. “I would revamp his filing system for him, it’s incomprehensible.”

“Brother, come _on_. You’re good at this stuff and I’m not.”

Byakuya went silent for a long moment. 

From far away, there was a splash, followed by a shout of “I’M OKAAAAAAAY!”

Finally, Byakuya spoke. “He is my subordinate. It would be inappropriate for me to acknowledge that he even has a personal life.”

Rukia glared at him.

“But on an entirely unrelated topic, I have recalled something that I wished to ask of you. A sisterly favor, as it were.”

“Oh?” Rukia asked warily. 

“You are familiar with Wasanbon? The cafe uptown near the art museum?”

“The one that seats, like, three people at a time and takes fifty years to get a reservation?”

“That is the one. They have a new pastry chef and are holding some sort of _brunch_ event that I have been invited to. I approve of the establishment, generally, but you know my feelings on out-of-schedule portmanteau meals.”

“And also sweet things at breakfast.”

“Exactly. You and Abarai haven’t made any public appearances lately, and I know he is fond of sickly baked goods.”

Rukia rubbed her chin thoughtfully. If there was one thing about living with Brother that she _didn’t_ miss, it was getting dressed up and rubbing elbows with snobs, but it had been _ages_ since they had done it. Renji didn’t make a big deal about it, but Rukia was pretty sure he actually _liked_ doing stuff like that, and the man _loved_ a brunch. It might be just the thing. “When is it?” she asked cautiously. “I’ll have to find a sitter.”

“It is this Saturday and Ichika may come over here.”

Rukia frowned. “She has a football game on Saturday. Renji’s the Assistant Coach. We have to bring orange slices.”

“Why is he only the _Assistant_ Coach?” Byakuya demanded. “The man has _bankai_. He co-heads a Kuchiki branch family!”

“There is no _bankai_ in kiddie football, Brother,” Rukia pointed out. “And one of the other parents wanted to be the coach. As long as Renji gets to set out cones and make lines, he doesn’t care about titles. Maybe we can find a substitute,” Rukia mused. 

“I will Assistant Coach the football team.”

“Brother, you don’t know how to play football.”

“I do. There is a ball and a net and the team with superior moral character wins.”

Rukia sighed. “I will find a substitute coach. If I give you the orange slices, can you make sure they get to the game?”

“You may entrust your orange slices to me.”

Rukia narrowed her eyes at him, weighing this carefully.

“I am a great uncle,” Byakuya proclaimed.

“Unnnnnnncllllle B!” a squeaky voice rang across the lawn. Two pairs of Kuchiki eyes drifted out over the gardens where one small Abarai was dragging an entire limb of a wisteria bush across the lawn, which was digging gauges in the soft sod behind her. “I brought you _one bunch!”_

Rukia raised her eyebrows at her brother.

“It will be fine,” he announced confidently.

* * *

  
  
  


“Well, hot damn,” Renji exclaimed, when Rukia laid out the proposal. “I’m in.”

“Really?” Rukia asked, idly pulling up a few weeds while she watched him try to thread a cucumber vine through the trellis he was trying to set up. “You don’t mind missing football?”

Renji snorted. “I love my tiny attack dogs, but not as much as I love drinking overpriced mimosas with you.”

“I’ll find a sub coach for you,” Rukia offered quickly, “I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”

“The only reason we have two coaches anyway is to have a backup,” Renji explained, squinting at his work. “And for the number of times Suzuki has flaked out on me, he deserves to handle them by himself for once. The only issue, as far as I’m concerned, is how Little Red is gonna take it.”

“I”ll handle that, too,” Rukia assured him. “Hey! Hey, Ichika!”

“COMING, MAMA! Let’s go, Hihiou Zabimaru!” With an ear-piercing and spookily accurate screech, Ichika galloped up on the eight-tin-cans-strung-on-a-broomstick she had been riding around the yard. “Do you have a foe that needs defeating, Mama?”

Rukia spared a frosty glare for her husband. “‘Foe’?”

“I didn’t teach her that word. Sounds like a Byakuya word if I ever heard one,” he mumbled, half to his cucumbers.

“Ichika, we need to talk about football this Saturday.”

“I love football!”

“I know.”

“We will win this time!”

“Maybe! But… how would you feeeeeel… if Mama and Daddy didn’t come this week?”

Ichika considered this. “No, thank you.”

“Mama and Daddy have a very important but boring meeting they have to attend at football time,” Rukia explained. “It’s about… cleaning.”

Ichika frowned. “That sounds boring. You should go to football instead.”

“Oh, we have to go. But Uncle Byakuya said he would love to take you to football! Would that be okay? If Uncle B took you to football?”

Ichika wrinkled her nose. “Can’t we all go?”

“We have to go to the cleaning meeting,” Rukia reiterated.

“Why doesn’t Uncle B have to go?” Ichika asked. “He’s a captain just like you.” Shit. _Shit_. Why did their kid have to be so damn _smart_?

“Uncle B has never cleaned a thing in his life,” Renji put in dryly. He cleared his throat. “Ichika, the thing is, Mama and I need you to do an important job for us.”

“Really?” Ichika asked. 

“Uncle B is a little nervous about going to a football game. He’s never been. We’re counting on you to show him where to go and tell him all the rules, and maybe… no… I don’t think…”

“What, Daddy, what?”

“I was thinking that maybe you could carry the orange slices. They’re _so_ heavy, though…”

“I WILL CARRY THEM!”

Rukia shook her head. How did he _do this_? Every time. “We’re counting on you,” she put in. 

“Can I have the orange slices right now? Hihou Zabimaru wants to carry them!”

“Today is Thursday. Football isn’t for two more sleeps, okay? It is too soon for the oranges.”

“Does Hihiou Zabimaru want to go fetch me the twine from the kitchen?” Renji asked hopefully.

“HOOWWWWWWL, Zabimaru!” Ichika bellowed, taking off around the yard again. 

“Do you actually need the twine?” Rukia asked. “ I can go get it for you. I hear Hihiou Zabimaru gets distracted easily.”

“Don’t I know it,” Renji replied lightly. “I’ll use it if it gets here. I would never interrupt my helpful weeder.” He leaned forward and pushed her hair aside to press a kiss into her neck as the clank of tin cans grew distant. “Well. I might. She’s awful pretty.”

“Renji,” Rukia gave a dramatic, long-suffering sigh, but made no attempt to stop him. “Think of the cucumbers.”

* * *

to be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. As usual, most of the work that went into this fanfic involved doing research on what people eat in Japan, and I learned that Japanese pancakes are made with whipped egg whites, so they are very, very fluffy, and quite a bit harder to make than the western kind. Just like every food I incorporate into my fic, I am now dying to try them.
>   2. The amazing Kaickos drew me [some beautiful illustrations for Chapter 1](https://recurring-polynya.tumblr.com/post/618749987036250112/you-know-what-id-really-love-you-to-write-renruki)! Please go look!
> 


* * *

“What do you think of that?” Mikan asked, adjusting a kanzashi. “Your hair is getting so long!”

“It’s been forever since I had it put up,” Rukia noted, admiring the intricate twists Mikan had swirled into her hairdo. Ponytails when she was doing dirty work didn’t count. “And thanks for coming over on your day off.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, someone had to come get Ichika anyway,” Mikan insisted. “And this is fun!”

There was a slight throat-clearing from the doorway. Rukia looked up to see Renji lounging against the doorframe. He was dressed to the nines, in a deep blue haori shot through with silver embroidery over a lighter blue kimono. His hair was smoothly pulled back and tucked under a dark grey silk scarf. He’d done a light touch on his make-up, very classic, masculine and formal. Her heart jumped into her throat. He looked as handsome and strong a branch family head as she'd ever seen. How had she possibly found this man in the worst dump in Soul Society? 

“Get out of here, Lieutenant Abarai!” Mikan shouted, hurling a hairbrush at him with the skill of a major league pitcher. “She’s not ready yet!”

Rukia didn’t get to see the part of the day where Renji and Mikan traded off Ichika, but somehow, it was utterly unsurprising that Renji had managed to cultivate a jokingly antagonistic relationship with her usually demure maid, the way he managed to subvert the class-based rules with everyone in Byakuya’s social circle. He ducked, his arm shooting up to catch the hairbrush as it flew by.

“I’m not here for her, I’m here for you,” Renji explained. “Ichika has requested your services. She says my hair-dos are only good enough for daily wear, she wants to ‘look good’ for Uncle B. Please keep in mind that she’s going to play football today.”

Mikan gave him exactly the same indulgent smile Rukia had seen her give to Ichika. “She’ll just have to wait until I’m done Lady Rukia’s make-up.”

Renji locked eyes with Rukia in the mirror. Oh, no. Oh, no, he was giving her _the smolder_. “I can take care of that,” he said, his voice low in his throat. Rukia felt her face flush. Renji _loved_ doing her make-up, although he rarely did it for formal occasions, in part because Renji doing her make-up nearly always resulted in them _being late_.

Mikan’s eyes darted between them, and the tips of her ears turned bright pink. “I shall just go see to Miss Ichika, then.” She cleared her throat as she left the room. “Please remember that you have a _reservation._ ”

“We won’t forget,” Renji assured her, his eyes never leaving his wife as he came over to sit beside her. 

“If she quits, it’s _your fault_ ,” Rukia accused him, turning to look at him. 

“If she was gonna quit from us being too horny, she woulda left ages ago,” Renji reminded her, putting one hand possessively on her knee as he looked over her extensive collection of make-up that she didn’t know how to use. He found a tub of goop that seemed to satisfy him, and scooping out some on his fingers, he began gently rubbing it onto her face. 

“You look really nice,” Rukia complimented him, her voice not coming out quite as confident as she had hoped.

“You do, too,” he assured her, fondly. “I was a little surprised you agreed to this. You owe Byakuya money or something?”

Rukia snorted, as if she could ever _begin_ to pay back the amount of money Byakuya had dropped on her over the years. As though he would ever accept a single kan of it. “He just thought… _I_ just thought… It’s been a while since we’ve been on a date. I thought it would be fun.”

Renji raised one eyebrow as he tipped her chin up and turned her face slightly from side to side. “If I recall those ancient times, I always used to offer to take you to nice places, and you only ever wanted to go to hellholes.”

Rukia blew some air out of her cheeks. “Well, for one, I always thought you were just offering because that’s what you thought _I_ wanted, and for two, I was so sick of going to classy places, I was honestly grateful to finally have someone to eat garbage with. It wasn’t until we were Courting that I realized you were actually into this nonsense.”

“Mostly, it’s that seeing you dressed up like this gets me all hot an’ bothered,” Renji explained, flipping through her brushes. “We can go find a yakitori cart if you’d rather.”

“Why do you lie to me, Abarai Renji?” Rukia asked him, but with no sting in her words. “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying being fancy once in a while.” She gave him a little half smile. “It’s also a lot more fun being fancy with _you_ than a bunch of frowning aunts, as it happens.”

“I dunno,” Renji hummed, brushing some powder onto her cheek. “Does it make me an asshole that I, a shithead from the deep Rukon, get off on going to snob restaurants with the strongest, most beautiful woman in the Seireitei on my arm? Also, the food at these places is really fucking good, your tastebuds are broken, you know that, right?”

“That doesn’t make you an asshole,” Rukia assured him. “The fact that you are an asshole is _incidental_. And you’ve worked hard to get where you are. You deserve to be proud of yourself once in a while.” She gave him a sly smile. “You’re also not the only one who likes parading around with a stone hottie on his arm.”

“Mmm, ‘zat so?” Renji hummed, pulling the cap off an eyeliner. “Eyes closed! Anyone I know?”

“Well, I told you I went to lunch with Hanatarou this week.”

Renji shook his head. “Damn. That guy’s the whole package.”

Rukia attempted to kick him in the shin while holding her face perfectly still. “You know he’s taken. You’re pretty good, too, y’know. Those delts.”

“I been working on my delts, actually.”

“Are you ever _not_ working on your delts?”

“I rotate through. They’re looking pretty good right now though, you wanna see?”

Rukia cracked one eye open. “Abarai,” she informed him. “We have a _reservation_.”

* * *

  
  


Byakuya had promised Rukia he could manage to take Ichika to her football match by himself. It was strange to be without attendants, but Rukia had said that most of the other children in the league were the offspring of other shinigami, not necessarily nobility, and they might find Byakuya’s usual retinue to be… how had she put it? _Overkill_?

It was no matter. Byakuya handled things by himself all the time. Right now, he was handling a bag of orange slices, a bag of bananas (bananas were better than oranges), a box of baked goods, a bag containing Ichika’s football equipment, which appeared to include an entire medieval suit of armor, and a water bottle with rabbits printed on it. These things were in his right arm. His left hand was completely full of one, small, rather sticky hand. 

Ichika was carrying Princess Seaweed. She had started off by insisting on carrying the orange slices, which had lasted all of two minutes.

“You will have to remind me of the rules of this game,” Byakuya informed her. “Is football the one where you use ink and a brush to draw elegant words on paper?”

“No, Uncle B!” Ichika shouted indignantly. “That’s calligraphy!”

“Is it the one where you hit someone with a sword until they fall over?”

“No, Uncle B, that’s kendo!”

“Is it the game where one runs faster than everyone else?”

“Yes!”

“So the faster player wins? I should think I would be very good at this game.”

“ _No_ , Uncle B, that’s _tag_ , and _Mama_ always wins at tag! For football, you have to be fast and you have to kick the ball into the goal and you have to be Good! At! Moving! Side! To! Side!” She danced back and forth, kicking an invisible ball. “And then BLAMMO! Into the goal. And you are on a team. You can’t win by yourself.”

“Ah, I see,” Byakuya nodded seriously. “Your mother has never once beaten me at tag.”

Ichika did not appear to hear him. “That’s the field, Uncle B! Can I go? Can I run now?”

“You may go,” Byakuya granted, and suddenly, his left hand was left holding a threadbare toy and his niece was tearing across the well-groomed soccer field. 

There was a small set of worn bleachers on either side of the field. Byakuya made his way toward the one where most of the children appeared to be wearing the same orange jersey as Ichika, and began to unload his burdens. He wondered if there was some sort of Football Steward to whom he was supposed to entrust these items.

“Oi! Mornin’, Captain Kuchiki! You remember the orange slices?”

Byakuya blinked, taken aback at the man who had addressed him so familiarly. He was of middling height, dark-haired, nondescript in face. There was a cigarette tucked behind one of his ears and another clenched between his teeth, although it wasn’t lit. He wore a nylon jacket with “Assistant Coach” embroidered in huge letters on the back and he was currently trying to wrestle a pair of funny shoes onto a small girl. Byakuya wasn’t much for faces, but the horns had stuck in his memory. “Good morning, Lieutenant Akon. I have the orange slices.” Byakuya frowned at the child. He could not imagine anyone from the Twelfth Division having a family.

“Today it’s Assistant Coach Akon,” Akon corrected dryly. “Abarai loaned me his jacket.”

“Yes, I should have recognized its aura of excess enthusiasm,” Byakuya commented.

To his surprise, Akon chuckled. “Yeah, it’s got Big Abarai Vibes for sure. I feel grossly cheerful just wearing it. He owes me about fifty favors for this.”

“I did not know you had a child,” Byakuya noted.

“I’m Hachigou Nemuri!” the child bellowed at him indignantly. 

Byakuya stared back at her blankly.

“Nemu,” Akon said, looking the child carefully in the face. “This is Kuchiki Byakuya. He is the captain of the Sixth Division, and the Family Head of one of the Four Great Houses. I think he’s the most noble person you’ve ever met, is that right?”

The child’s face has taken on a vaguely blank look, and Byakuya swore he could hear a faint whirring sound. 

“Yes, Akon,” the girl replied.

“He’s also Abarai-chan’s _uncle_. Got that?”

“Maternal or paternal?”

“Maternal.”

“I have got it!” The girl’s eyes refocused. “Hello, Captain Kuchiki! Do you like football? I love football! I am very fast!”

“Most people found the old Nemu a little lacking in the personality department,” Akon explained, as though Byakuya wanted any part of this. “So the boss let me implement a machine-learning algorithm that builds up her personality as an aggregate of people she meets. That’s why I signed her up for the football team.”

“I see,” Byakuya replied. 

“She might ask you some questions. It’s really helpful, honestly, if you give her a straight answer. She doesn’t interact with that many nobles and I think the Abarais and the Head-Captain have got that part of her algorithm pretty messed up. I didn’t foresee that.”

“I see,” Byakuya replied again.

“What’s your favorite color, Kuchiki Byakuya?” Hachigou Nemuri asked.

“Blue,” Byakuya answered.

“Do you like cats better or dogs?” Hachigou Nemuri asked.

“Dogs,” Byakuya answered.

“Would you rather be able to fly or be invisible, Kuchiki Byakuya?”

“In various circumstances, I have done both. Flying is more enjoyable,” Byakuya answered. “What do any of these questions have to do with being noble?”

“I am _getting to know you_ ,” Hachigou Nemuri clarified unhelpfully.

“It’s a random walk information gathering subroutine,” Akon explained, as if that explained anything.

“HI, NEMU!” Ichika had returned.

“Hello, Abarai-chan!” Nemu shouted. “You need your shin guards!” Information gathering, random walk or otherwise, was abruptly forgotten.

“Uncle B, I need my shin guards!” Ichika hollered. 

“I am sure we have them here somewhere.”

Akon’s spirit phone rang, and he ducked off to the side while Nemu attempted to help Byakuya identify in which orientation the shin guards were supposed to go.

“Why do you have four pairs of socks in here?” Byakuya frowned. “Which ones are the correct ones?”

“I want the unicorn ones today!” Ichika sang. 

“I wish I had unicorn ones,” Nemu groused. “Mine have eyeballs on them.”

Byakuya vowed to not look too closely at the child’s socks.

“AKON! Why do my socks have eyeballs on ‘em? Abarai-chan has unicorn socks! I want unicorn socks!”

“I’m on the phone, Nemu.”

“This isn’t right,” Byakuya frowned, looking at his work.

“The socks go on _outside_ the shinguards, Uncle B!”

“You could have mentioned that earlier.”

“ _Shit_.”

“AKON SAID A BAD WORD!”

Akon was scratching his forehead pensively, around the base of his horns. “Hey, Kuchiki, you know anything about football?”

“I know that it is an activity for hooligans and miscreants,” Byakuya responded coolly.

“Great. Perfect. Coach called. His kid is sick. I’m the coach now. I’m naming you assistant coach.”

Byakuya contemplated this. “I want to be the coach.”

“You just said you didn’t know anything about football!”

“You are wearing the jacket. The jacket says Assistant Coach.”

“You can wear the jacket. I’ll give you the jacket.”

“I will not,” Byakuya stated firmly, “wear the jacket.”

  
  


* * *

Rukia’s eyes skimmed over the menu. Everything was hand-written and nothing was in complete sentences, just unpunctuated words strung together. Fancy dining was so stupid. 

“I might want the matcha waffles,” she mused. “But maybe I just want the raspberry ginger compote that comes on top of them. “What are you getting?” 

“Pancakes,” Renji answered instantly.

“You make great pancakes,” Rukia frowned. “We can have pancakes anytime.”

“Babe, I haven’t made pancakes in years. Do you know how much work it is to whip the egg whites? And even if I’d made them _yesterday_ , it’s still a delightful luxury to eat pancakes someone else’s biceps have ached for.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Rukia replied loftily, remembering _quite fondly_ the days of being brought pancakes _in bed_ , and then getting to admire the biceps in question afterward. She tossed the menu down on the table. “Order for me. I will be judging you on your performance.”

“Easy,” Renji retorted. “I’ll just order double pancakes and if you don’t like it, I’ll eat yours.”

“Just try it and I’ll freeze your fingers off,” Rukia threatened. “You know that if Byakuya were here, he would ask if they had any nattou. Plain nattou. Extra slimey. For me.”

“You hate nattou.”

“He forgets. He loves nattou.”

“Be kind, Rukia, he’s watchin’ the kid.”

“You’re right, you’re right. He’s an angel. A weird angel. A weird, nattou-loving angel.”

There was a nearly silent rush of air next to them that would have made Soi Fon proud, and a waitress in an elegant kimono stood before them. “Welcome, Lord and Lady Abarai. You honor our establishment on this lovely morning.” The woman’s voice was low and breathless, as if she were telling them a ghost story instead of telling them about the special menu.

“We just like pancakes,” Renji informed her. 

“We are grateful to my lord brother for allowing us to come in his stead,” Rukia spoke over her husband. He always did this, joking around with wait staff in fancy restaurants and ramen counters alike. He was kind about it, and she would be a liar if she pretended like she didn’t enjoy it, but pretending to be irritated with him was part of the game. “Lord Kuchiki sends his congratulations on your new pastry chef. An excellent acquisition.”

“Indeed,” the waitress went on in her dramatic whisper. “It is my delight to inform you that we are able to offer an imported morning drink from the World of the Living: coffee. It is much like tea, with a more bold and robust flavor.”

“Lady Abarai and I are both familiar with that beverage-- we’ve spent a lot of time in the Living World, y’know,” Renji announced pompously. Cripes, she loved this stupid jackass. “Rukia likes hers black, but extra cream and sugar for me.”

“Ah, pardon me, Lord Abarai,” the waitress gasped, “Of course you would be familiar with it! You will have to tell us how ours compares. As for the rest of your meal, do you know what you wish, or do you need me to tell you more of the menu?”

“Pancakes for me,” he replied. “Can I get ‘em with the raspberry stuff that comes on the matcha waffles?”

“The raspberry nectarine ginger compote is an excellent accompaniment, milord! Wonderful choice.”

Renji regarded his wife with half-closed eyes in what was almost, but not-quite a smolder. “My lady wife will have the dashimaki tamago, with an assortment of your house pickles.”

A warm feeling of contentment curled in Rukia’s heart. Adding dashi to a regular sweet omelet was tricky business and a really good dashimaki tamago was a sign of a chef’s skill. Someone who knew her less well might have just asked for their spiciest pickle, but that would just cover up evidence of the chef’s expertise. It was a very refined order. The bastard had nailed it. He wasn’t done, though.

“I hear,” Renji went on, “that when Chef Morihide was at Waterlily House, she used to make little melonpan in the shape of bunnies. Wasn’t on the menu, but you could ask. Lady Abarai is very fond of rabbits.”

“I will see what can be done,” the waitress said in a knowing tone of voice. 

“Would appreciate it,” Renji shot the waitress a wink as she disappeared into the ether again.

Rukia kicked him under the table. “ _How_ did you know that?”

Renji looked untroubled and more than a little pleased with himself. “Kira’s been riding shotgun on Captain Otouribashi’s restaurant review column for years. Just ‘cause he complains about it doesn’t mean he doesn’t have the dirt on every fancy-ass place in town.”

“You can’t even go to Saturday brunch without doing your homework first, can you?”

“I wanted to know what was good, which it turns out, is the pancakes. Also, Kira’s jealous as hell that we’re here, which is like extra sauce.”

“Sounds like the lieutenant doth protest too much.”

“Have you even read their column since Kira actually started helping write it? He used to just go along for the free food and Otouribashi would add in all this shit about ‘my gloomy companion could not even be cheered by the delicacy of the soup’, but Kira got fed up with that, and started writing his own parts. Now, it’s like a back-and-forth where the Captain gushes about everything and Kira criticizes it. It’s super popular and really funny, to be honest. Hisagi’s trying to get them to write a book.”

Rukia rested her chin on one hand. “Someone cuts all the pictures out of the Bulletin to make collages before I can get to it. I’m lucky if I can read a third of an article. Maybe I should start getting a copy delivered to the office.”

Renji rubbed his chin thoughtfully and took a quick glance around the room.

Rukia squinted at him. “You’re making a thinky face. I don’t like it when you make that face.”

“Just wonderin’, with you slacking on your current events, if I might finally have a chance at VIP Bingo.”

Rukia sat up straight, her eyes sweeping the room. “Back corner, green haori, curly hair. Kyouraku Ukichirou, Head Captain’s nephew.”

Renji whistled. “Brutal. My own wife, who has a forty-year head start on me, won’t even leave me the low-hanging fruit. Not that I need it. Lady with him is Tanaka Haruhi, primary cellist for the Seireitei Modern Philharmonic.”

Rukia scoffed. “Now who’s picking low-hanging fruit? Brother has a huge crush on her, talks about her constantly.”

“He _admires_ her _musical skill_ , Rukia. She is a _professional_ and Captain Kuchiki doesn’t have _crushes_.”

“Whatever,” Rukia grinned. “Double or nothing for the lady with the gonzo hairdo next to the potted plant.”

* * *

  
  


Byakuya frowned, deeply, as the phone rang against his ear. The entire reason he had agreed to start carrying the cursed thing was in case of “family emergencies”. This was… family-related. And sort of an emergency.

“Hitsugaya here.”

Byakuya cleared his throat. “Ah, excellent, Captain Hitsugaya! It is Captain Kuchiki.” There had been a great deal of muffled noise in the background. He hoped he was not interrupting something of importance.

“Captain Kuchiki! Is everything all right? It sounds like you are in grave danger!”

Byakuya frowned. He would not have classified it as _grave_ danger, but Captain Hitsugaya was his Best Informal Acquaintance, and was sometimes able to make these uncanny intuitive leaps into Byakuya’s inner emotional state that he himself did not always recognize. “I require your assistance,” Byakuya replied. “It is time-sensitive, but there is no imminent danger.”

“Quiet, Matsumoto! I am on the phone! Yes, Kuchiki, tell me your location, I can be there immediately!”

“I just need to know how one wins a football game,” Byakuya explained. “To clarify, I am not actually playing the football game.”

“I’ll be right over! Where are you? Hang on, Kuchiki!” There were more strange sounds in the background that sounded a lot like female voices and possibly loud music. 

“I am at Football Pitch B in Himura Park. We are ‘Away’.”

“Got it!”

“Kuchiki, I could really use your help here!” Akon shouted. “Can you keep Noriyuki from chewing on Shimizu? _Thank you!”_

Byakuya stared over all the identically clad children. Which one was which? How did Akon possibly keep them straight?

There was a _whoosh_ of flash-step. “I’m here. What the--” Hitsugaya bit his tongue,”--the Frozen Heavens is going on here?”

“Shift change, shift change!” Akon was bellowing. “Kuchiki! Find numbers 4, 17 and 22 and push them in the direction of the field!”

“I told you that you did not need to come,” Byakuya told Hitsugaya. He located #17, who happened to be sitting on #9.

“It’s no problem,” Hitsugaya replied tersely, propelling #22 toward the pitch with an encouraging pat on the back. “I was at Karaoke Brunch with Momo and Matsumoto and _I didn’t know Hirako_ _and all his weird friends were coming_.”

“Why would you do such a thing?” Byakuya frowned.

“Do I really need to explain to you why a man would foolishly agree to something his beloved sister asks him to do?” Hitsugaya leaned back slightly, peering at the back of Byakuya’s jacket. “Assistant Coach Kuchiki?”

“I am only wearing this to protect my clothing from stains! You would not believe how unexpectedly children stain things!”

“So what is the problem? Why did you call me again?”

“I want to win this game.”

“He doesn’t understand,” Akon broke in. “You win by _surviving_ the game and then your child is so tired out that she takes a _nap_ for once. Do you have a light?”

“I don’t think you should be smoking around children,” Hitsugaya pointed out.

Akon made an angry noise in his throat and bit down harder on his cigarette, which was beginning to look a little worse-for-wear.

“Boy, I wish we’d had a nice field like this when I was a kid in Junrinan,” Hitsugaya reminisced fondly. “Usually, we’d just play ball in the streets until some grown-ups yelled at us.”

“So how do you win?” Byakuya insisted. This was a child’s sporting event, there was no time for _nostalgia_.

“Your team kicks the ball into the goal more times than the other team.”

“I _know_ that! But look! That child is wandering in circles! That one is eating a flower! Ichika knows how to handle the ball, but Akon will not allow her back on the field! She would have a goal by now, but all the children on both teams always cluster around the ball to prevent its forward progress, like a mob!”

“There are lines, Kuchiki,” Akon said dryly. “The children go on the field according to the lines. I didn’t even make the lines. Abarai made the lines. Oh, speaking of which! Hey, Abarai-chan!”

“Yes, Mr. Akon?”

“When the next period starts, it’s your turn to be keeper. You feel up to it?”

Ichika tugged on her ponytail. “Do I get to wear the pinny?”

“You do.”

“YAY! I will _do it!_ ”

Byakuya threw up his hands. “I love her immensely, Hitsugaya, but how do you reason with a creature that is more excited by wearing a filthy scrap of nylon than of _humiliating her opponent_?”

“I think you’re supposed to ‘enjoy it while it lasts’,” Hitsugaya suggested. “Are you really looking forward to her asking you how to hone her killing intent and screaming about ‘leg day’?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Uncle B?” There was a tug at his hideous jacket.

“Yes, my blossom?”

“Daddy does a cheer with whoever’s turn it is to be the keeper. Will you do a cheer with me? So I can be ready?”

Byakuya froze. His blood pounded in his ears. He looked around, but clearly, neither Hitsugaya nor Akon were going to rescue him from this. Carefully, he knelt down on one knee. His niece’s eyes were shining and huge. He could do this. He _must_ do this. It was his duty. “Ichika. The role of the keeper is to protect the goal, is that correct?”  
  


“Yes!” Ichika grinned, showing off those little pointy canines that Byakuya supposed were now a _hallmark of her house_. Or maybe they were just baby teeth.

“To pit one’s flesh and bone as the last pillar of defense against the strength of the enemy?”

“Take it down a notch,” Hitsugaya suggested out of the corner of his mouth. “Two notches, maybe.”

“Even within the great Kuchiki Clan, it is the purpose of the Abarai to protect. To give all they have for those they love and the things they believe in. You are the hope of your family, and it is your life’s purpose to become strong so that you, too, will be a great protector. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Uncle B.”

Carefully, he reached out and patted her firmly on the head, exactly three times.

“Here’s your pinny, kid,” Akon said, dropping it on her head, just as Byakuya pulled his hand away. “Good pep talk, Kuchiki. Abarai usually just shouts ‘Ora ora ora!’ at them and spins them around, as long as they’re not a known puker.”

“I do things as I see fit,” Byakuya announced.

“Uncle B?” Ichika asked. “When I’m in the goal, will you take a picture of me? With your phone? To show Mama and Daddy?”

As if the cheer had not been enough! Byakuya felt drained. It was as though she was pinpointing all his weaknesses. How did Rukia and Renji maintain such stoicism in the face of this, day in and day out?

“No problem, Ichika!” Hitsugaya’s voice rang through the flustered fog of his panic. “I’ll help him out. Can I take one, too? With my phone?”

“Thank you, Uncle Shirou!”

“Truly,” Byakuya managed, “I am lucky to have you as a comrade, Hitsugaya.”

Hitsugaya clapped him on the shoulder. “You got me out of singing backup on Living World power ballads, Kuchiki. I am here for whatever you need.”

* * *

  
  


“You want some more pancake?”

“Yes, I do. Mostly I just want more compote.” 

“Here, give me your plate.” Renji shook his head. “Cripes, I nearly just cut it up into tiny pieces for you. Put me out on an ice floe, Rukia, your cool and sexy husband is gone.”

“Shan’t,” Rukia replied, accepting her plate back. “Who would watch my kid for me? You get an A+ on ordering by the way, that omelette was amazing. This raspberry stuff is really good, but I don’t think I could have eaten a lot of it.”

“I could,” Renji replied. “I did, in fact.”

Rukia chewed her compote thoughtfully. “Renji?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks.”

“Thanks? For the pancake?”

Rukia carefully wiped her bite of pancake around on the plate, trying to absorb every bit of raspberry residue she could. “For doing so much. For being so good.” She took a deep breath. “You’ve always been a great partner, even before we were married, even when we were just friends, but I feel like I don’t tell you enough what a good husband and father you are and… and I know you want to be out fighting Hollows and drinking with your friends, and you never complain and I just don’t deserve you.” She stuck her lip out.

“Hey. _Hey_ ,” Renji took her hand in her own and tilted his head until she looked him in the eye. “Sure I like fighting Hollows and embarrassing Iba at the bar, but I did that for forty years and I’ll get to do it again in a few more. Sure, Ichika is frustrating and exhausting and sometimes kinda disgusting, but I’m really happy with our lives, honest. I love that I can hold down the fort so you can keep your eyes on that captain’s haori. I know your brother thinks we should just have a ton of servants take care of her and do everything for us, but I like that Ichika gets to be a part of our lives and we get to be involved in hers. She’s a bag of trouble, for sure, but I like her a lot. She reminds me a lot of you as a kid, as it happens. And for every hard thing, it passes before we even know it. You remember diapers? You remember when our entire life was carrying around diapers and washing diapers and thinking about diapers? When’s the last time you thought about diapers?”

“My mind had completely erased diapers,” Rukia admitted. “Also breastfeeding.”

Renji nodded, knowingly. “So don’t you worry about me. I’ve been on latrine detail at the Eleventh the day after New Year’s. Fatherhood is _great._ There’s even some good parts, like that obstacle course we made last week, or when she falls asleep on my shoulder.” He paused. “I do not mind being thanked with pancakes now and again, though. You could compliment my abs more, too, I wouldn’t mind that.”

“The pancakes and the abs seem like an either/or proposition,” Rukia noted. 

“That’s what makes me so amazing,” Renji pointed out. His brow creased for a moment. “How… how about you? Are you happy? Sometimes I worry that maybe you would be a little happier if our life wasn’t barely contained chaos at all times.”

“I love barely contained chaos,” Rukia announced grandiosely. “I thrive on barely contained chaos.”

“Good, ‘cause that’s what we got,” Renji chuckled, examining how much coffee was left in his cup. He finished it with a long sip and then put the mug down again. “That’s it? You weren’t leading up to anything?”

Rukia frowned, genuinely confused. “Leading up to something? Like what?”

Renji breathed out a puff of air. “Well, you took me out nice and let me do your make-up and said a bunch of nice things about me, I been vaguely worried all morning you were buttering me up for something.”

“What sort of thing?” Rukia laughed, as if she ever hesitated to ask him for anything.

“Makin’ another one,” Renji mumbled under his breath. 

Rukia let out a horrified bark of laughter. “Are you _kidding?”_ The thought had never even crossed her mind. Had it been crossing his mind? “I mean-- I mean-- I like the one we have, but-- but--”

“I think we’re on the same page,” Renji squeezed her hand reassuringly. “I would do it if you wanted, you know I would, but… Ichika is more than enough for now. Maybe after you make captain?”

“Yeah! _Loooong_ after I make captain, though, not right away. Maybe. If we feel like it. Or not. There’s nothing wrong with just having one! We can talk about it then.” Rukia realized she was talking very quickly.

Renji nodded vigorously. “Sure, no reason to decide now.”

“No, none at all. I’m having trouble deciding if I want another coffee or another mimosa, honestly.”

“Mimosas are nice, but we are going to have to go retrieve our kid after this, so I’m getting another coffee. You can get another mimosa.”

“Nah, coffee for me, too,” Rukia decided. “We’re in this together.”

* * *

  
  


“Come on! One more, Akon! Pleeeeeeeeease!”

Akon shook his head furiously, holding up one finger as little Nemu waved an orange slice at him. The man hung his head for a moment, seemingly deep in concentration, and then spat one, two, three, surely no, surely _yes_ , four, annnnnnd five completely stripped orange peels into his hand.

“Wow!”

“Amazing!”

“Su _goi!_ ”

“Good job, Coach Akon!”

“How did he do that?” Hitsugaya gaped, clearly impressed.

“I do not wish to know,” Byakuya replied. He was eating a banana.

“I have an extra row of teeth!” Akon offered the explanation absolutely no one wanted, pointing at the interior of his mouth. “They’re retractable. No one at Twelve is impressed by it. I take an audience when I can get one.”

“Was that impressive, Ichika?” Byakuya asked his niece.

“Yes,” Ichika replied. “Daddy can’t do that. He’s tried. Mama can fit three in, but she can’t chew them like that and Daddy had to hit her on the back until she spit them out.”

Byakuya had no comment for that.

“How many oranges can you fit in your mouth, Kuchiki Byakuya?” Hachigou Nemuri asked him.

“Zero,” Byakuya replied. “I prefer bananas to oranges.”

“Which do you like better, bananas or apples?”

“Bananas.”

“Bananas or blueberries?”

“Bananas.”

“Bananas or cherries?”

“I prefer bananas to cherries, but cherry trees to banana trees.”

“Excuse me!”

Byakuya looked over at the woman who was regarding him crossly. “Yes?”

“These cookies.”

“Yes?”

“Do they have seaweed in them?”

Byakuya blinked. He pulled out the slip of paper he had found tucked into the top of the box of cookies. He read out the words written in Mikan’s tidy hand: “‘They are gluten-free, soy-free, egg-free, nut-free, dairy-yes.’ It does not say anything about seaweed,” he admitted. “Is seaweed usually in cookies?”

“They are _shaped_ like seaweed,” the woman insisted. “My Ryuusuke is allergic to seaweed.”

“They are shaped like _Ambassador_ Seaweed,” Byakuya corrected.

“I don’t think there’s any seaweed in them,” Hitsugaya, who was gnawing on one, replied. “They taste like regular butter cookies. Oh, turn it over, Kuchiki, there’s more on the back.”

There was a full ingredient list on the back. “Seaweed-free,” Byakuya confirmed proudly.

The women’s stern expression melted. “Oh! How thoughtful of you! Ryuusuke! You may have a cookie.”

“Did you say they were gluten-free?” another father asked. 

“Yes?” Byakuya offered hesitantly.

“Ah, wonderful! Kiko, I changed my mind, you can have one!”

In short order, there was a horde of children swarming his cookies. Byakuya had never had so many people interested in his cookies at once. His heart felt very, very full, as though it could not hold even another orange slice.

“Kuchiki Byakuya,” Nemuri asked. “What is your favorite book?”

“ _Narrow Road to the Deep North_ ,” Byakuya replied. “It is a book about traveling and nature, by the great poet Bashou.”

“Hitsugaya Toushirou,” Nemuri asked. “What is your favorite book?”

“ _Tales of the Iron Army,_ ” Hitsugaya replied around his cookie. Byakuya perked up. He had never discussed books with Hitsugaya before.

“ _Tales of the Iron Army_ comprises a series of twelve books. Which is your favorite?”

Hitsugaya pursed his lips. “ _Defense of the Broken Gate_ , I think,” he decided.

“ _Fog before the Mountain_ is better,” Byakuya corrected him.

“I didn’t know you read fiction,” Hitsugaya said, surprised.

“I occasionally indulge,” Byakuya defended. “Perhaps we should set aside a special time for discussion, when you may attempt to explain your clearly indefensible positions.”

“That sounds cool and fun,” Hitsugaya responded dryly. “I’m free next Saturday at whatever time Karaoke Brunch is.”

“ _My_ favorite book,” Ichika offered, without being asked, “is _Rejection of the Twin Fishes!”_

“That is my favorite book, too!” Nemuri agreed enthusiastically.

“I refuse that!” the girls chorused together in a shower of giggles, echoing the protagonist’s catchphrase.

Hitsugaya eyed Byakuya, a soft look in his eyes. The fact that a generation of shinigami would grow up remembering Ukitake Juushirou as their favorite author, rather than one of the greatest of all shinigami captains was probably something their old friend would have been very pleased with. Byakuya just hoped that the obviously absurd and untrue rumors regarding the inspiration for the character of the Petulant Prince, a humorous caricature of young noble scion with a bad temper, would wash over before Ichika was old enough to be aware of them. To be fair, the Petulant Prince got a bit of a bad rap, in Byakuya’s opinion. He did have a number of heroic moments, and honestly, had a lot of pressure on his young shoulders.

“Uncle B reads me _one chapter_ every Wednesday when I go to his house,” Ichika announced proudly. Her face grew thoughtful. “Uncle B? Do you think we could read a chapter _today_ ? Even though it is _Saturday_?” Her face took on a look of gritty determination. Byakuya couldn’t decide whether it made her look more like Rukia or Renji. “I would _try_ to take a nap if you did!”

Byakuya had been wrong. It turned out that his heart was able to feel just a _teensy_ bit fuller.

* * *

  
  


Once again, Rukia found her brother out on the engawa, gazing peacefully out at the blooming flowers. This time, however, he was not empty handed.

“Are you _day drinking_?” Rukia exclaimed, clearly delighted. 

“I am _celebrating_ ,” Byakuya defended. “She is asleep in your old room. Would you like some?” 

“We had cocktails at brunch,” Renji explained.

“He means yes,” Rukia continued. “Sounds like we’ll be sticking around for a bit.” She hefted her skirts up so she could take a seat next to him. Renji plopped down on her other side.

“Good,” Byakuya appraised. “I needed an excuse to open the second bottle.”

“How did the game go?” Renji asked amiably.

“Ah, the game! We lost by approximately 900 goals. Apparently no one keeps score. Here,” he passed Rukia his phone. “There are many pictures. You can swipe to the side to see more of them.”

“Aww!” Rukia squealed, scrolling through pictures of Ichika standing in the goal, Ichika being hit in the stomach with a ball, Ichika clearly prepared to defend the goal while the ball sat serenely in the goal two feet behind her, Ichika throwing the ball back into play. Rukia gasped when she reached the final few photos-- attempts at an Ichika-Uncle B selfie. “Brother are you _cheesing_? I didn’t know you could cheese!”

“Don’t worry, sir, I didn’t look, out of my respect for you,” Renji stared off into the middle distance.

“I’m texting these to myself,” Rukia announced.

“No! Stop! Do not use my phone!” Byakuya snatched it back.

“Too slow for the Assistant Goddess of Flash,” Rukia preened. Curse Yoruichi for ever bestowing that wretched nickname on her!

Byakuya scowled at his sister. Rukia mugged back at him.

“Was she good?” Renji asked, vaguely concerned. “No meltdowns?”

“None, she was very well-behaved.” Byakuya made a contemplative face. “I do not understand why I am so tired.”

“We do,” Rukia replied immediately.

“And, as deeply tired as I am… as soon as she fell asleep and I had a moment to myself… I began to miss her.”

“Yeah, that happens,” Renji agreed.

“Did you have a good time?” Byakuya asked, his brows creasing. “You look very beautiful today, Rukia. Reasonable job, as well, Abarai.”

“It was wonderful, Brother, thank you so much,” Rukia said, leaning against him and sipping her sake.

“Thank you for giving me a niece,” Byakuya replied softly. “I like her very much.” He paused. “Also, I have given Mikan a raise.”

“Good,” Renji replied. “She deserves it.”

  
  
  


~the end


End file.
